


First Contact

by reynkout



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Bottom!Jean, Color contact lenses, Eye Color, Eye Contact, Eye Licking, Fetish, Kinks, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Sex, Sexual Content, Wall Sex, circle lenses, fuzzy fluff all the way, mentioned Eren Jaeger, mentioned Mikasa Ackerman - Freeform, top!Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein has horrible eyesight; he's almost as blind as a bat! On top of that, he hates his real eye color so he wears colored contact lenses. There was never a need to tell Marco, his partner, that he wore lenses. Well, not until Marco wants to try a little experiment and put his licking fetish to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, you all!
> 
> Wow, okay, so this was another idea coming from my friend and my conversations that go on until the late hours of the night. We get really loopy sometimes, okay? Well, I decided to write another Jean POV story because I need a break from writing in Third Person POV; I'm super burnt out, but I don't want to stop.
> 
> Uhhh, so the type of lenses Jean's wearing are technically circle lenses but they're dailies. I wear them as well, so if I went too much into detail about contact lenses then you know that I'm sorry (haha, oops). Because wearing, buying and selling lenses have kind of been my hobby for the past three years, it's always really satisfying to see others getting into the fashion as well.
> 
> Okay, enjoy!

You know, I never considered myself a one for kinks. Well, not until I met Marco, that is. Yeah, Marco Bodt, age 29, tanned skin and freckles smattered all over his fucking hot body. That Marco. He’s sweet-natured and soft and cute but, man, does he have serious cards under his sleeve. I really should have known. He and I had tried a multiple of toys, crazy positions, and even tasted strange places. Still, I had other secrets that he didn’t know. Well, not till this afternoon. Not until he decided to take his fetish way too far.

We’re lying in bed, snuggling with each other because Marco has this thing for cuddles. And apparently, I won’t even admit this out loud, I do too. Marco’s just gotten out of work, and all he wants to do right now is unwind and relax. Of course, the only thing on my mind right now is _please, fuck me, Marco_. Okay, okay, I’m lying. That’s not the only thing going on in my head. I know better than that, considering I _am_ a grown man at age twenty… something. Hell, even I’ve forgotten; birthdays don’t matter for me at this point, anyway. Marco’s probably terribly exhausted and needs some rest, so I lie there, his body close to me and his breath tickling my neck. I don’t mind, not really, since I’m the one who took his hand and led him to the bedroom before he could crash somewhere uncomfortable in his apartment. Hell, it’s only seven in the fucking morning (Marco had nightshift). It wouldn’t be the best to pounce him now. Maybe later.

I notice that Marco’s breathing has really slowed down. He’s asleep. Aw, how adorable; the way his face suddenly looks like a little kid’s, eyebrows no longer as arched as they are when he’s awake. Then again, Marco always said the same to me… Except I don’t have stupid beautiful sexy freckles like he does. I bet he was super cute as a child.

Sleep is really getting to me. True, I’d had a few hours of rest last night but I hadn’t gone to sleep until two this morning. I don’t have to teach until four in the afternoon today, lucky for me. The kids drive me crazy with all the new choreography they want to try out in our routines. Right. So I’m a dance teacher at this studio for all kinds of dance. Usually I teach adults, but this week I’ve been assigned to a six to twelve year class who want to learn Contemporary. It’s fun, but there’s a few students who have difficulties. For example, I can’t seem to get along with this boy named Eren Jaeger. He and his sister are attending my class, and Jaeger seems to argue with everything I do. Mikasa Ackerman, Eren’s sister, keeps him in check, even if she has to do it violently (especially with her fist). I find it amusing, but some days the two of them just get on my nerves. Mikasa one time explained that she and Eren used to go to a dance academy, which is why Eren disagrees with everything that I do. He gets me so riled up that I sometimes am about to whoop his teeny little a--

No. I’m getting all caught up. Right now, it’s time to sleep. I peer down at Marco’s sleeping face, smiling. He’s out like a light. Nothing can wake him now, not even an earthquake. My head lolls, and I finally close my eyes. A little nap wouldn’t hurt.

When I wake, Marco’s gone from my side. I crack an eye open, groaning. I really should have taken out my contacts before falling asleep. They feel dry, sticking to my eyes like they were glued. I lift myself off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom connected to his, no, our room. Unscrewing the cap, I lubricate my eyes with the multipurpose solution I usually store my regular monthly contact lenses in. I’m too lazy to change them now, even though they’re dailies. I just put them on… I look at the digital clock. Oh yeah, I just put these lenses on five hours ago. I really shouldn’t risk throwing them away now. I’m almost out of the dailies right now, and my new order to replenish them should be coming in a week or so from Asia. Thankfully, Marco has never seen me without contact lenses, or I’d be as blind as a bat. My prescription is supposedly through the roof: L -9.00/-11.50 R

Technically, I should be wearing glasses with rims as thick as coke bottle glass at this point, but my doctor said it’d be best for me to use contact lenses to hinder the rate at which my eyesight decreases, even just a little bit. Something about the distance of glasses versus contact lenses has a lot to do with it or whatever. I’m no optometrist, so I’m trusting that mine knows better than me about my case.

I jump when two hands cup my shoulders. I stare right into the mirror, recognizing the owner of those hands. I smirk, glad that my eyes aren’t red from sleeping with lenses on.

“Hey babe,” I croak. Even though my eyes aren’t dry anymore, my throat sure is.

Marco smiled widely, his eyes flashing. “Hi yourself,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Had breakfast yet?”

I shake my head. Both of us were so tired, we didn’t even bother to eat beforehand. Oh well. Marco leaves the bathroom to make something wholesome and breakfasty for both of us, even though it’s practically lunchtime. I let out a big yawn, finally waking up the rest of my body. After a rinse off, I make my way to the kitchen.

Marco makes a breakfast that can only be described as beautiful. My plate is decorated with two sunny-side-up eggs, two strips of turkey bacon, a piece of toasted sourdough bread, and a mixed fruit salad. A big glass of orange juice is beside it. I take a huge gulp of the juice, then start my meal. I try not to pound it down, but it’s been so long since I’ve had such a traditional breakfast. I never have the energy or inspiration to make something like this. Even when I serve Marco breakfast in bed, it’s usually never this fancy looking. I kind of feel bad for slacking off as a boyfriend.

“How was work last night?” I ask between stuffing my cheeks like a chipmunk.

Marco lets out a quiet sigh and puts down his fork, pressing his palms into his eyes. “It was so _long_. They wanted me in one Skype meeting after another so we could get the contracts signed. The sooner we get to it, the easier it is for our marketing team to target the audience overseas. We’ve got a following, but it’s not as big as my boss wants it to be. All I wanted to say was ‘ugghhhhhh’.”

I snort, which Marco finds cute while I’m disgusted by my own weird sounds. “Sounds like it was hard,”

“Uh-huhh,” Marco uncovers his eyes and resumes eating. “‘nd wha’ abo’ yo’ danth clath?” _And what about your dance class?_

I chuckle, because despite all of Marco’s good manners he practices, he still talks with his mouth full. “Good. I mean, everyone came on time and did really well. They’ve got most of the choreo down.”

“‘nd Eren?” Oh.

“Same as… always.” I shrug. It’s pretty much always the same situation, anyway.

When we’re done eating, I force Marco to take a shower while I wash the dishes. Since he cooked, I should at least clean up. I’m almost done rinsing the dishes when my fingers slip while I’m holding the knife I got Marco for Christmas, the sharp metal slicing into my thumb. I wince, turning off the water immediately. I rush to the bathroom, barging in while Marco’s still in the shower. The water isn’t running, though. No, Marco’s already done with his showering. He’s stepping out with a green towel around his waist. He looks at me, his dark eyelashes still wet from the spray.

“Um,” I stutter. “Hi?”

Marco grabs my hand, noticing I’m bleeding. “You’re hurt,” he says. Well, yeah, I think anyone would be after a knife runs over their thumbpad. I blush, my focus anywhere but on him. But the next thing he does completely knocks the socks off me.

He brings my thumb to his lips, covering the cut with his tongue. He licks up the blood, taking my whole thumb into his mouth and sucks. I was sooo not expecting that. Damn, he looks so hot sucking on my fingers; heat rushes into my loins as I watch Marco suck _my thumb_ off. Groan, my life. Is struggle.

He releases my thumb with a ‘pop’. I’m pretty sure I just ‘popped’ a boner.

“Marco,” I manage to get the words off my tongue. “Bed. Now.”

We make a beeline for our bed, Marco laughing a little when I tell him to hurry up. I jump onto the bed in a Superman pose, and flip around to find my boyfriend leaning in for a kiss. I push our lips together. His lips are so plush, so soft, so, so… delectable can be a word for it. He seems to have moisturized them, because they’re wet even before I start tracing them with my fingers, drawing my face away from his. Marco lets out a teasing little moan, just to stretch his mouth so I can get a better feel of his skin. I groan in response. He really doesn’t know how sexy he is. Or maybe he does, and he’s working it so I’m close to my breaking point of self control. Well, not yet, but if he keeps it up then yes, I will lose control.

Marco laps at my face like a dog, something he’s really into. His tongue is smooth, and I’ve kind of accepted it to where I actually enjoy it myself. I bite back a growl as he licks my cheekbone, over the bridge of my nose and to my browbone. Oh my God, he’s so fucking hot. He retracts. Marco’s freckles brush against my skin as he smooshes our cheeks together.

“Jean,” I hear him murmur. “Jean, will you let me do something?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t need permission to fuck your boyfriend, Marco.” I’m snarky, because Marco likes that.

“No, that’s not what I meant, Jean.” he says, fingers drawing patterns on my clavicle. He’s on top of me, his weight keeping me from moving too much. “I wanna try something,”

“Like I said, you don’t need permission,” I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, but trust that whatever he’s doing will be okay.

“I love you, Jean.” he blurts, and suddenly my pulse heightens. What on earth is he planning on doing?

His face lifts, his mouth coming dangerously close to my right eye. I blink up at him, still unsure of what he’s trying to accomplish with this. Suddenly, his long pink tongue is in my vision, poking at my eye. It fucking _hurts_ , dammit. His saliva is dripping and it’s really hurting me. My eye’s veins are turning red, pulsing with blood. My nerves are telling me to get away from Marco, but only because my freckled boyfriend’s got his tongue in my _eye_. Then, I feel something slip from my iris. Oh shit. My contact lens is being lapped up by Marco!

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop! Stop, shit, red! Red, Goddammit!” I push him away, covering my stinging eye. I hear Marco trying to spit out something. Hell, that’s my contact lens on his tongue.

He plucks it off his organ, looking at it in slight confusion. I groan in despair. Fuck, my life is totally over. I jump off the bed, racing to the bathroom. As I wash out my eye with multipurpose solution (since water is a fucking bitch when it comes in contact with my eye), Marco calmly walks over to the doorframe. He rests there, still inspecting my contact lens. I can see the brown colored pattern on the lens really makes him curious. Ugh.

“What are these?” he just asks. I stare at him like I’m dumb or something. “Jean, what’s this?”

I clear my throat, still closing my right eye, partially so I can still see clearly without the hassle of having only one contact lens in. “Uh.. colored lenses?” I reply in a sentence that sounds more like a question than an answer.

“I knew you wore contact lenses, but colored lenses? What else do I not know about you, Jean?” He screws up his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s annoyed with me now.

“Didn’t mean to deceive you,” I’m in so much shit right now. “I… I just thought the color looked good on me,”

“Jean, do you know how many times I’ve told you that your eye color is pretty? And you expect me to just accept that the color I loved most came from a _colored contact_?”

God, I’m sweating right now, just like our friend Berthold does when he gets nervous about something. I hate when he gets angry at me. There’s always this danger of him strangling my throat and choking the life out of me. My temper, although rigid and short, is nothing compared to his. It can blow up, just like a bomb. The damage it causes is also similar to a nuc. I seriously hope I haven’t caused him to become that angry with me. I fight back the flee and flight response my instincts are telling me to do when it thinks I’m in danger.

“I didn’t mean to do it on purpose,” I say in a scarily small voice, though my tone still has its normal, snarky intonations. I open up my right eye, showing my true eye color, a murky green that reminds me of a vibrant kind of Spanish moss. Gross. “I just thought I could kill two birds with one stone; correct my vision and change my eye color.”

I see, through my good eye, Marco’s expression soften. He comes close to me, away from the doorframe, and kisses me on the lips. I moan, wrapping my arms around his torso. He coaxes my lips open, initiating in a French kiss with me. We twine our tongues together, him grinding his lower set of teeth into mine. I clench onto him with my arms, pulling him closer. We let our eyes slide shut, kissing frenzily. I massage his sides, his tanned skin getting hotter and so much more desirable. Not like it isn’t already. Our noses bump together lightly, and I adjust the angle of my face so both of us are comfortable. His tongue slides against mine, the tip tickling me. The dexterity of his tongue is amazing; no wonder it feels out of this world when he gives me a blowjob. How he trained himself is a total mystery. Either that, or his genes really help him in this kind of situation. I’m pretty sure it’s his DNA that makes him so damn perfect. Oh my God.

Marco breaks the kiss. “Look at me,” he commands in a soft voice, smoother than a hot knife through butter. I do, opening up my eyes as I stare into his. He gasps, grinning all of a sudden. “Why did you ever hide this color away from me?”

“Because it’s--,”

“Beautiful. It’s so beautiful, Jean.”

My eyes widen, not believing me ears. No one has ever told me that my natural eye color was pretty, let alone _beautiful_. There you have it, kids. Marco, AKA Señor Suave, as I like to call him from time to time.

I shut my right eye, and he dives in for a taste of my eyelid. He backs me up into the wall, thrusting his knee in between my legs. It sparks excitement in my crotch area, and I can feel my cock twitch. Marco clutches at my shirt, wanting it off. I lift my arms, and he helps me out of my clothing. My boxers go next, as they’re the only pants I’ll wear to bed. I grip his towel, letting it loosen and slide down. Marco kicks it away from us as he throws my clothes in a pile somewhere near the door.

He attacks my neck, biting as I stretch it out so he can get better access. He’s leaving lovemarks there, not caring about the consequences later. I don’t give a shit right now, and I welcome everything that he can give me. Fuck, the way he nips at the artery pulsing underneath my skin is so arousing, so hot, so sexy. I want him to feel the same way, too. I reach for his groin, pulling at his dick. He isn’t slowly forming a boner, nope, he’s already hard as a rock. Guess Marco’s really got some fetishes; if my eye color makes him like this, then…

I’m sliding down the wall, away from Marco’s teeth, until I’m on my knees and his dick is right in front of my face. Oh yeah. I know he wants this, and I want it too. I hold the base in my dominant hand, stroking it while I lay kisses on the head. I tongue the slit, fully confident that Marco likes this type of treatment. When I flatten out my tongue and lick him like a lollipop, his muscles under freckled skin tense. I take him into my mouth, bobbing my head and servicing him. Marco deserves this, he so does. As I hollow out my cheeks to take him in deeper, his hands slide into my hair with his fingers wandering over my undercut. I hum around him. I love his touch. He groans, wanting to move his hips. I slap his behind, signaling that it’s fine, and he gyrates, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. My jaw begins to ache, but I keep going, laving over the underside of his sex. Marco’s breaths come out controlled yet harsh. I know he probably won’t make it to the bed in time, so I ease him off and stand, turning around for my arms to brace the wall as I spread my legs wide. I look at him with half-lidded eyes over my shoulder, waiting.

Marco’s nostrils flare, and I figure he’s going through all the possible scenarios we can play out. He opts for a simpler kind, ignoring me for a second while he rummages under the sink to find our stock of lube. When he does, he grabs one and opens the cap, his focus back to me. I turn my head away from him to keep my neck from cramping up and stare at the blank wall as he runs slick fingers over my ass. He fondles my sac, something he does right before preparing me. It’s like saying that everything’s going to be okay, even if it hurts. I know the protocol.

A finger pushes in all the way to the knuckle. It’s not painful, just something I can’t really get used to at first no matter how many times we do it. I push my hips out further, egging him on. He pumps it back and forth, adding another one and starts to scissor me open. I bear it, increasing my breathing to get myself in the mood. And it works. My little Jean Jr. wants attention, calling out for someone to touch it. Marco adds a third finger, specifically searching for my sweet spot that he loves to abuse so much. It’s taking him a while, so I help him by angling my hips this way and that until he reaches it and _jams_ into it.

I make such pathetic noises; I sound like a horse braying or whinnying or whatever the fuck horses do. Marco says it’s cute, but I say it’s not. Anyway, so I let out this weird horse noise when he reaches my prostate, massaging it. I buck back onto his fingers, begging for more, but he pulls them out. He slaps the counter, picking up a pack of condoms and ripping one off. He opens the packet, sliding the protection over himself. I whine, but my mouth makes an ‘o’ when I feel his cock line up with my hole.

“Wait,” I tell him, facing him. I situate myself so I can hike a leg over his shoulder. Perks of being a Contemporary and Ballet dancer: flexibility. I nod, telling him I’m ready.

He pushes in, inch by inch, and I can feel it. My teeth clench together as he licks at my jaw lovingly. He’s got his eyes closed, seating himself within me. After what seems like an eternity, his balls hit my ass. He’s in. I’m ready. My arms wrap around his neck, and he and I engage in a kiss. He starts to thrust, shallow and soft at first, then harder, deeper until I’m moaning into his mouth. He puts a hand on my hip, gripping it, the other used to push away my face from his.

Our motions are synced together. Whenever he drives into me, I slam my hips down onto him. Marco’s wearing this blown-out face that looks like he’s stuck in so-close-to-orgasm limbo. His face is flushed, the color all the way down to his sternum. The freckles on his skin stand out over the pink-red tint his skin flushes, making him look totally cute. I smile through moans, my head knocking into the wall when I tilt it back. Not the best idea. Marco presses me further into the surface, taking one of my arms off his neck and lacing his free hand with one of mine. Holy mackerel, he is so _romantic_.

My boyfriend nips playfully at my nose, then thrusts in harder. He hits the spot that makes me lose myself; I groan as I arch my back. If we were doing it cowboy (because I’m pretty fucking sure not female, so we can’t call it ‘cowgirl’) style, I’d be bouncing in his lap like no tomorrow. Marco’s back to lick my cheek, catching beads of sweat that runs down my face. I moan his name when he piledrives into me, almost beating up and abusing my sensitive bundle of nerves.

Pleasure washes over me everytime he hits it. My voice is so fucking loud; I’m pretty sure that all our neighbors can hear me scream for my boyfriend. Fragments of sentences are spewed from my lips as I tell Marco to go _’faster’_ , _’harder’_ , and _’more, more, fuck, Marco! More!’_

He complies, pleasing me with his thick, hot cock. I pant like a hound, and do more than just howling, too. I’ve locked eyes with him. He’s boring a hole through me, right into my soul with those pupils of his. He’s telling me all the things I want to hear without saying it. Marco’s so good, so, so g-good, I can’t.

His freckled hand unwinds from mine and comes down to stroke me, and I’m gasping like a fish out of water when his skin comes in contact with my prick. He holds it in a firm grasp while the hand on my hip grips me like a vice. I’m going to have a bruise there, I’m sure of it. He’s telling me to come, that it’s alright. The pressure builds as his thrusts go erratic and random. He’s doing everything he can to make me orgasm.

“Come, Jean,” he commands.

And I do. My eyes roll back, as if I’m possessed by the feeling of pleasure from my release. I stop breathing; white sparks through my vision, the beat of Marco pounding into me, everything. I flutter around him, my muscles spasming out of control. My jaw is hung open as I’m lost in rapture. And then, when I come to, I’m practically choking as Marco slams me harder into the wall and bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut. He spills into the condom, still inside me, and then slump. I put my leg down, instead wrapping it around his waist.

We catch our breath, our chests pressed together. Marco finally slides out, leaving me feeling empty. It’s almost as if I was losing my other half; I’m pretty sure he was feeling that way, too. Marco picks my skinny ass up suddenly, and slings me over his shoulder. He carried me to the bed, tossing me there.

“What the fuck?” I land fine, but I’m still shocked.

My boyfriend disposes of the condom, bringing back a damp face towel that’s warm to the touch. He wipes up the mess on my body, and I smile. I pluck out my other contact lens and give it to him. When he’s done chucking it in the sink, along with the towel, Marco joins me on the bed. We’re back to the same position as this morning, cuddling with each other. I feel terribly sleepy after a round of sex, but I know I have work in a couple of hours.

“Jean,” Marco pipes up, voice as soft as the wind.

“Mhmm?” I’m so tired; I don’t bother lifting my head.

“I want some lenses, too.”

After hearing that, I squint at him because I’m blind. “Really?” I ask. “You don’t need to, Marco.”

Marco sighs, but it’s that good type of sigh that I’ve come to love. “Let’s change it up a bit. If you’re gonna have brown eyes, I might as well try for green.”

“Exotic,” I comment.

“Right?” He sounds happy.

“And sexy,” I finish.

“Aw,” Marco shifts around and kisses me. “I love you, Jean.” I look away, but then meet his eyes after a second. I don’t doubt him.

“... I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa there, horsey! Don't go anywhere yet!
> 
> Liked this story? Why not give it a kudo or so? A comment's even nicer (I read all of them and reply to the best of my ability).


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